


when i'm home everything seems to be right

by crediniaeth



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-29
Updated: 2009-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crediniaeth/pseuds/crediniaeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fame wasn't at all what Chris had hoped it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when i'm home everything seems to be right

**Author's Note:**

> Written with permission from traveller on livejournal. Based on her one-line fic inspired by [this picture](http://pics.livejournal.com/crediniaeth/pic/000wcg98).

Fame wasn't at all what Chris had hoped it would be.

Coming home from the _Farragut North_ wrap party, he knows he should feel a sense of elation. There’s nothing more stimulating than performing in front of a live audience, feeling their collective energy pushing you on. He knows he was handed a golden goose with the part of Stephen and wouldn’t have traded this run for the world. But as he throws his keys into the bronze bowl on the side table, he just feels heavy.

It probably doesn’t help that Skip and Larry were waiting outside his house for him to come home.

Skip, Larry, and their two cameras.

He doesn’t mind the fans with their earnest faces and their pens. He doesn’t mind taking pictures with them either, even if they do ask him to hold signs for organizations he doesn’t quite understand. He knows they do it because they find something they enjoy in his performance, or at least he hopes that’s the case.

What he does mind is this… celebrity. The pictures taken without his consent. I mean, why would anyone want to see him walking to acting class? Or getting coffee at LAMILL? It makes no sense.

And yet he knows Skip and Larry by name, because they’re always there. Even at this time of night.

_His father had it easy_ he thinks as he pulls a Heineken from his refrigerator. As he fights back the bite of the alcohol, he wishes desperately to be back in the bowels of the Geffen. Back in the dressing rooms with Chris and Olivia working lines. Or back on the Paramount lot with Zach and Zoe and Karl.

With people who care.

With people not paid to watch and record his every move.

\--

His house is still dark. He hasn’t bothered turning on any lights. The only light illuminating the room is the small screen of his iPod.

He’s looking for kindred spirits.

He finds them in John, Paul, George, and Ringo.

He’d always known about the Beatles growing up, but he didn’t really get them until he spent that year in Leeds – being only an hour’s drive from Liverpool, it wasn’t difficult to catch the mania. Going to the Cavern Club, walking along the waterfront, imagining what they must have thought, must have felt…

He feels just like them now. Trying to be true to themselves while fighting the establishment, the establishment in this case being the paparazzi.

Plugging the iPod into his stereo’s dock, he puts on something young, something cheerful. Something untarnished.

_A Hard Day’s Night_ it is.

He lets the tinny, mono sound of The Fab Four fill the room. Sinking into the smooth leather of his sofa, Chris thinks of Leeds with its Tetley’s Bitter and late night pasties. He thinks of Berkeley and Telegraph Avenue. He thinks of summers in the back yard harassing Katie with a garden hose.

He thinks of Zach and his calming presence. His word choices that rival his own. His horribly awesome fashion sense.

He thinks of Zach.

He reaches behind him, picks up his cell phone, and dials.


End file.
